Psyche (6 page)

50
“Joshua,” 24.15: 351.

51
Steele, ed.,
Taking Stock: The Calgary Conference on the Canadian Novel
, 151.

52
Steele, ed.,
Taking
, 153-4.

53
Frye, “Conclusion,” 826.

54
Jukes, “Once over Lightly.”

55
Qtd. in Jukes, “Once over Lightly.”

56
Thanks to Valerie Argue for providing bibliographical details from her home library as well as approximate translations of titles.

Archer, Eugene. “Susannah York Gets Dual Role.”
New York Times
, 226 August 1961, 1.

Bishop, Dorothy. “Novel of the Week.”
The Ottawa Journal
, 28 November 1959, 1.

Bishop, Dorothy L. “Phyllis Brett Young: With the Canadian Slur.”
Ottawa Journal
, 4 June 1960.

“Boston University Begins Collection of Phyllis Young Manuscripts, Letters.”
The Globe and Mail 1964
.

Brett, G. S. “Introduction.” In
Introduction to Psychology
. Toronto: MacMillan, 1929.

Brown, Harcourt. “George Sidney Brett.”
Isis 3 6
, no. 2 (1946): 110-14.

Buchanan, Jason. “American Venus: Synopsis.”
http://tv.msn.com/movies/movie.aspx?m=2077071&mp=syn.

“Chapter XV: Literature.”
Royal Commission on National Development in the Arts, Letters & Sciences
, 22.2-43. Ottawa: King's Printer, 1951.

Dempsey, Lotta. “Private Line.”
Toronto Daily Star
, Tuesday, 3 October 1961, 1.

Dowbiggin, Ian.
Keeping America Sane: Psychiatry and Eugenics in the United States and Canada
, 1880-1940. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997.

Dummitt, Christopher..
The Manly Modern: Masculinity in Postwar Canada
. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2007.

Fass, Paula.
Kidnapped: Child Abduction in America
. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Frye, Northrop. “Conclusion.” In
Literary History of Canada, Canadian Literature in English
, edited by Carl F. Klinck, 821-49. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1973.

Fulford, Robert. “The Massey Report: Did It Send Us the Wrong Way?” robertfulford.com/MasseyReport.html.

Gauvreau, Michael. Personal communication, 9 April 2008.

- “Philosophy, Psychology, and History: George Sidney Brett and the Quest for a Social Science at the University of Toronto, 1910-1949.”
Canadian Historical Association: Historical Papers
(1988): 209-36.

Gleason, Mona.
Normalizing the Ideal: Psychology, Schooling and the Family in Postwar Canada
. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999.

Goudy, Donald. “The Case of the Reluctant Writer.” 24 February 1962 1962.

Grant, Michael and John Hazel.
Who's Who in Classical Mythology
. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993.

Irving, J A. “The Achievement of George Sidney Brett (1879-1944).”
University of Toronto Quarterly
14, no. 4 (1945): 329–65

“Joshua.” In
The New Oxford Annotated Bible
, edited by Michael D. Coonan, 314-52. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001.

Jukes, Mary. “Once Over Lightly.”
The Globe and Mail
Monday 21 December 1959, 1.

Lecker, Robert.
Making it Real
. Concord, ON: Anansi, 1995.

McLaren, Angus.
Our Own Master Race: Eugenics in Canada, 1885-1945
. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1990.

Mitchell, Beverley. “Writer Denies Need for Inspiration, Lazy Streak her Only Problem.”
Montreal Gazette
, 13 January 1960.

Owens, Gwendolyn. “On the Subject of Psyche.” 2008.

Pearce, Lynne. “Popular Romance and its Readers.” In
A Companion to Romance, From Classical to Contemporary
, edited by Corinne Saunders. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2004.

Rackham, Michele.
On the Subject of Psyche
, email correspondence with the author, 20 April 2008.

Raymond, Jocelyn.
The Nursery World of Dr Blatz
. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1991.

Reid, Jane. “Writing is Good Excuse.”
The Moncton Daily Times
, 31 May 1960.

Seeley, John R., R Alexander Sim & E.W. Loosley.
Crestwood Heights: A Study of the Culture of Suburban Life
. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1956.

Skene-Melvin, L. David St C.
Canadian Crime Fiction, An Annotated Comprehensive Bibliography of Canadian Crime Fiction from
1817
to
1996
and Biographical Dictionary of Canadian Crime Writers, with an Introductory Essay on the History and Development of Canadian Crime Writing
. Shel-burne, Ontario: The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 1996.

Slater, John G.
Minerva's Aviary: Philosophy at Toronto
, 1843 -2003. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005.

Steele, Charles R., ed.
Taking Stock: The Calgary Conference on the Canadian Novel
. Toronto: ECW Press, 1982.

Toye, Eugene Benson and William. “The Oxford Companion to Canadian Literature, Second Edition.” edited by Eugene Benson and William Toye, 1199. Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Young, Phyllis Brett.
Die Tochter des Zufalls
. Stuttgart: Deutscher Bucherbund, 1962.

– Psyche
. Toronto: Longmans, 1959.

T
HE
child's cry floated softly down the well of the circular staircase; plaintive only because it seemed wordless; coaxing because it so obviously sought an answer from the thick, warm silence of the house.

A maid stepped through an archway under the stairs, to wait for a repetition of a call she was not quite certain she had heard. And, as she stood there, a shaft of late afternoon sunlight, falling athwart the chandelier above her head, scattered a shower of prismatic colours over her black-and-white uniform, transforming it momentarily into motley out of place in time and locale.

Again the child called, still gentle, not yet insistent.

Moving quietly away from beneath the soundless fall of colour, the maid crossed the hall diagonally and traversed a long living-room to French windows and a garden which dropped in terraced levels to a bank of delphiniums as blue as the blue sky above.

Sharon, in a deck-chair close against the delphiniums, saw the girl immediately, and rising, walked swiftly to meet her.

“Is she awake?” she asked, as soon as she was within earshot, and her husky voice betrayed an overtone of anxiety.

“Yes, ma'am. She's not crying, ma'am. Just calling for you.”

With a smile more brilliant than her wheat-gold hair, Sharon thanked the girl and dismissed her. Then, schooling her feet to a decorous walk, she made her way toward the house, while inwardly she derided her impulse toward haste.

Dwight is right, she thought wryly. I behave like a feather-brained
young duck with one very young duckling, suspecting danger behind every clump of reeds, scenting trouble on every breeze that blows. That my little one is, and forever must be, my one, my only duckling, is no excuse, makes her in no way more vulnerable. It is I who am vulnerable—and I am a fool. Nothing will happen to her. So carefully watched, so much loved—what
could
happen to her?

1

H
E
sat on an unmade bed in an attic of a second-rate boardinghouse, and stared at the cracked plaster wall opposite him. It was not a prepossessing view, a fact of which he was well aware. He hated the room, and everything in it, not for what it was but for the dingy condition of living it represented. A more fastidious man would have disliked the unclean sheets because they were unclean; he resented them solely on the grounds that they were poor quality cotton rather than good quality linen.

A figure at once repulsive and pathetic, he was not unlike a gaunt grey wolf which should have been reaching its prime, but which instead, because of inherent weaknesses, already fought a losing battle against the invisible adversaries of starvation and cold. A wolf without the courage to bring its glaring animosity out of its cave to face anything but the smallest and most helpless game, without enough perception to distinguish friend from foe.

And as he sat there, scattering cigarette ashes across already soiled bed-linen, tension revealed itself in a muscle, at the corner of a thin, bloodless mouth, which twitched with the regularity of a metronome; in pallid skin drawn too taut over high cheekbones; in the pin-point pupils of black eyes that reflected the light as reluctantly as a mountain tarn on a sunless day.

Brooding, as he had taken to doing more and more often, over the unfairness of his lot, he became convinced that he had not been treated as a veteran should have been.

Although he had spent less than two of his thirty-three years in
the army, he thought of himself exclusively as a veteran, as a hero who had given his all for an ungrateful society. That he had joined up under the influence of too much whiskey, and regretted it immediately he was sober again; that he had, during his brief sojourn in uniform, been better clothed and fed than ever before in his life; that he had seen no fighting; and that he had been provided with a liberal rehabilitation allowance, were not factors to be considered at all in his simple theorem of resentment. He was a veteran. He had no money. Therefore he was discriminated against. It was as elementary as that.

He could not have said when it first occurred to him to collect, by force, this imaginary debt owed him by society, for it was an idea that ripened slowly. Petty law-breaking was by no means unknown to him, but crime on a large scale, with proportionate risks, was a new departure, and he approached it with caution. His present employment, electrical installations in private houses, made robbery at first seem the obvious answer to his problem, but he shrank from ordinary domestic thieving because it would, if it were to yield a worth-while amount, involve jewellery, and jewellery could be too easily traced. What he wanted was to make one grand coup and retire. He envisaged, when thinking of this retirement, a fast car, a service apartment, and a decorative young woman who would do exactly what she was told to do at all times.

That he should finally decide on kidnapping was almost inevitable. In spite of all existing evidence to the contrary, it seemed a comparatively simple method of acquiring considerable riches in a very short space of time. To abduct a child, even the child of wealthy parents, is rarely impossible. The crux of the matter, in his opinion, lay in selecting a child old enough that its care and feeding need present no particular difficulties, yet not so far matured that it would be able to talk coherently upon its return to its home. He decided, however, after due consideration, that the choosing of the actual victim ought to be left until all other preparations had been completed.

He laid his plans with deliberation, employing a careful cunning
almost as effective as native intelligence, an asset with which his ancestry had not too liberally endowed him.

From a pawnshop he acquired a rectangular black suitcase which would pass as a tool-box to the uninitiated. Under the handle of this object he cut two ventilators shielded by neatly inserted wire screening. From a lady of doubtful virtue, who might have been expected to know better, he borrowed two hundred dollars which he invested in an old Ford, bought for cash from a used-car lot. This vehicle he stored in a downtown car park under a fictitious name, at no time bringing it anywhere near his lodgings or the building that housed the firm for which he worked. The problem of where to keep the child while he negotiated with the parents he settled to his entire satisfaction by renting a cottage, through the mails, under still another alias. He looked this acquisition over during the early hours of a Sunday morning. In spite of precise written instructions from the absent owner, he had some difficulty in locating it. He was sorely tempted to ask a solitary farm labourer for a true compass bearing, but, after only the briefest hesitation, he drove on without stopping. It was impossible, he decided, to be too careful.

When he finally found the place, a dilapidated frame house trapped between the end of a weed-grown track and a swamp that had been advertised as a lake, he knew with cynical amusement that he had been cheated. Any indignation he might have felt was based purely on principle, for the house was in every way ideal for his purpose.

On this occasion he stayed only long enough to repair a faulty lock on the back door. The job took him no more than twenty minutes, and was a perfectly legal undertaking in all respects. Nevertheless, by the time he returned to his ancient car, his narrow forehead was damp with sweat, and his bony fingers were trembling to such an extent he could scarcely fit the car key into the ignition.

He came back a week later under cover of darkness in order to install sufficient supplies for a stay of, if necessary, three weeks' duration. A bundle of cheap, new blankets, a case of whiskey, a meagre assortment of clothing, and several cartons of canned
goods which included Carnation Milk and Clapp's Baby Foods, comprised the sum of preparations which he considered not only adequate but inspired.

The mechanics of his plan for collecting the money—he intended to demand two hundred thousand dollars—were simple enough, and involved nothing more complicated than a paper parcel, neither registered nor insured, addressed to Mr. V. E. Teran, Box 3005, General Post Office, City. He thought, and quite wisely, that the crowded anonymity of a public place offered more cover than any country hedgerow at midnight. A pawn, who would actually open the box, could easily be found, and hired on some slight pretext, within the precincts of the Post Office itself.

The ransom note, which he also wished to have prepared in advance, proved an unexpected stumbling block. Sitting, as he invariably did when he was in his room, on the edge of his untidy bed, he struggled evening after evening with the composition of this piece of literature. And, as the waste-basket filled with abortive attempts—later to be flushed down a communal toilet—his unhealthy skin grew red with frustration, and the unruly muscle in his cheek increased the tempo of its rhythm.